Life, 1918-09-12 · page 5 of 34
Life — September 12, 1918 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes **unwanted summer social visits**—a common upper-class annoyance of the era. The cartoon depicts anthropomorphic animals (a rooster, bear, and fox) as "summer callers" visiting a country estate, with the caption: "Brace up, old fellow, you've got a lot of hug left in you." The poem expresses the speaker's frustration with unexpected guests disrupting domestic life—wilted flower gardens, forgotten Sunday meals, vanished provisions. The refrain "I hope no callers choose to come to-day" emphasizes the exasperation. A brief dialogue follows where a homeowner (Hobson) asks about selling his house; an agent suggests waiting, as "Boy Scouts of the neighborhood are just getting up a jazz band"—implying even worse future disturbances. The satire targets the social obligation to receive visitors, viewed as invasive and exhausting.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“BRACE UP, OLD FELLOW, YOU'VE GOT A LOT OF HUG LEFT IN You” Ballade of Summer Callers I loathe the auto-callers, those that say: HE flower gardens never looked so gay; I seem to find each border strangely neat. 2-Fe 1 ike to watch the little fountain play, Ne And let the spiders amble down my Pa feet, Tam the owner of this country seat, And all this realm is subject to my sway, Yet people will not learn to be discreet— T hope no callers choose to come to-day. My Sunday flannel suit is laid a The cook forgot to order extra meat. 1 meant to have some grape-juice on a tray, But all the ice has vanished in the heat. I fear there are no cookies left to eat, Yet here I lie in easy neglig For sloth is good and idleness I hope no callers choose to come to-day. is sweet— “Your shrubs are rather small, It is a treat To see you folks—we happened by this way— Is that a lawn or have you planted wheat?” And so they bump around the place, and bleat Of Cousin Ella’s farm at Beaver Bay, Until my misery is quite complete— I hope no callers choose to come to-day. L’Envoi Friends, when all other prayers are obsolete, And I have heard the last trump's reveillé, I have no doubt but I shall still repeat : “I hope no callers choose to come to-day.” OBSON: house? Acext: Well, it may not be a good time, but I advise you to sell it. The Boy Scouts of the neighborhood are just getting up a jazz band. Do you think it is a good time to sell my